


The Guy with the Good Attitude Towards Menstruation

by MaxWrite



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bloodplay, F/M, Fingerfucking, Menstrual Cups, Menstruation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-02
Updated: 2011-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-26 18:45:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxWrite/pseuds/MaxWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lot of men are made uncomfortable by this monthly miracle. But not Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Guy with the Good Attitude Towards Menstruation

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Daily Deviant](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/daily_deviant). Dean/Ginny was chosen for this fic because Ginny seems the type who might smack Dean in a situation like this, so I thought it might be interesting to explore this relationship a bit.
> 
> I never bothered to wonder what witches might use during their time of the month, until now. I went with the menstrual cup for this fic for a couple of reasons: **1)** in the Wizarding world, there are many things that are widely used that have been abandoned or largely ignored by the Muggle world. In reality, cups aren't nearly as commonly used as disposable options. And **2)** getting a cup _in_ requires far more familiarity with one's bits and pieces than traditional period protection, which works for this fic. My purposes here required a more involved process than, say, a tampon would provide.
> 
> Oh, and while I'm here, I might as well drop this [link](http://youtu.be/8cLHBwvMVow). It's a clip from _Kids in the Hall_ , a little monologue by Dave Foley. He's the guy. The guy with the good attitude towards menstruation.

"I'm sorry."

"Ginny, it's fine."

"It's so unpredictable! I'm not due for another four days, but, well, that's just the way it goes sometimes."

Dean helplessly watched his girlfriend, who was curled up on the opposite end of his sofa, her head on the armrest. She emitted the odd groan and would sometimes breathe deeply and deliberately, and he knew her discomfort was getting worse. He finally set aside his copy of _The Daily Prophet_ along with his quill. One of the things he loved most about these weekend-long visits with Ginny was waking up on Sunday morning and doing the crossword together in various states of undress while sipping tea. And they'd tried. She'd insisted on trying, but it was no use. She was in too much pain to concentrate. The crossword could wait.

"Give me your feet," he said.

"What?"

"Your feet. My lap." He sat back and patted his thighs.

With a groan, she shifted to stretch her legs out and rested her bare feet on his legs. He went to work rubbing one of them.

"You don't have to do that," she said.

"I know."

"You know I hate my feet. No one should have to look at them, let alone touch them."

"They're perfectly lovely feet, Gin. Would you like more tea?"

"No."

"Some toast?"

"No, Dean," she sighed. "In fact, I reckon I'll never eat again." She fidgeted and clutched her belly. He watched her with more than a little sympathy. In fact, just seeing her this way made his own stomach feel a bit off.

"What's it feel like?" he asked.

"What's what feel like?"

"Cramps."

She raised her head and frowned at him.

"Is it like regular stomach cramps?"

She simultaneously looked as though her head might explode and like she might lunge forth and smack him. "What kind of 'regular stomach cramps'?"

"You know. Stomach cramps."

"Oh, my god," she said with a sigh of exasperation, putting her head down again. " _Yes_ , but what _kind_? Do you know how many different kinds of stomach cramps there are? These technically _are_ stomach cramps. You're going to have to be more specific."

"Like when you have to go to the loo."

She slowly looked at him again, and though her face was blank, Dean knew he'd said the wrong thing.

"Seriously?" she asked.

"Er … yeah? What? What'd I say?"

Her mouth tightened. She was probably contemplating snapping at him again, but seemed to think better of it and put her head down instead. "No," she replied. "They're not like that."

"Oh."

"How am I even supposed to answer that question? Do you have a uterus I don't know about? Because unless you do, I don't see what you've got that I can compare this to. There's no way to explain it, certainly not when I feel like complete and utter shit. Why can you never ask me ridiculous questions when I _don't_ feel absolutely awful?"

"Sorry," he said, genuinely apologetic. "I was just curious."

"UGH!" she exclaimed, finally sitting up and taking her feet from him. She sat there, hunched over her own lap and looking at him as though her whole world was crumbling. "I'm sorry, all right?" she said, her voice gentler now. "I don't mean to be horrible, I'm just …" With a heavy, resigned sort of sigh, she leaned forward and rested her forehead on his shoulder. "Ugh-huh-huh-huh-hunnggghhhh," she groaned.

"Aw, Gin," he cooed, reaching up to pat her head. "I'm sorry, love. Wish there was something I could do. As soon as the Apothecary opens, I'm there. I'll grab what you need and be back in a heartbeat."

"I'd have gotten it myself if I'd thought I'd be in this mess today," she moaned.

"I know, love, I know … So, do you feel it when it comes out?"

Her head popped up, her mouth a tight line. _"Dean."_

He held up his hands. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Shutting up now."

 

  
**40 Minutes Later**   


The next time Ginny emerged from the bathroom, she looked a million times better, if slightly exhausted, which might simply have been relief. She sighed – a light, lilting sound rather than the weighed down, heavy groans of earlier – flipped her hair and came back to settle next to Dean on the sofa.

"Better, then?" he asked with a smile.

"Loads. Thank you." She curled up against him. "You brewed that potion exactly right."

"Told you I could. Been practising."

She looked up at him, half amused, half suspicious. "What for?"

"For you. For this. So you wouldn't have to, so you could relax. Least I could do."

She smiled to herself and sat up. She was quiet for a moment, thinking, which almost always made Dean nervous, but he waited patiently for her to gather her thoughts, whatever they might be.

"All right, then," she said, folding her arms. "Ask your questions."

"Hm?"

"Your questions. The annoying ones from earlier."

"Oh, you … now?"

"You'd prefer to pester me when I'm in agony?"

"Of course not, I just didn't think you'd ever want to answer them."

"Well, I don't, truth be told. But I owe you one." She finally noticed the paper bag on the coffee table, frowned and leaned forward to grab it and look inside. When she met his eyes again, she actually looked touched. "Oh, Dean."

He blushed and shrugged. "They were on sale. It's no big deal."

She pulled out one of several Chocolate Frogs which were piled inside the bag. "How did you know?"

He laughed. "Gin, you _always_ crave chocolate at, er, this particular time."

"Oh. Right. Didn't think you were paying attention." She put the Frog back in the bag, the bag back on the table. "Okay, maybe I owe you more than one. Several. Dozens, even. So, go on. What is it you want to know?"

Dean made himself comfortable, turning his body towards her. He knew he probably had a limited amount of time before Ginny got annoyed, or just plain bored, with his questions, so he had to think fast, use his time wisely. He'd never had this opportunity before with a girl, and possibly never would again. He asked, "Is it like childbirth? The pain, I mean. Is it like that sort of pain, only less intense?"

He was expecting more exasperation, but to his surprise and relief she actually laughed. "How on earth would I know that?" she asked.

He instantly realised his mistake; she'd never given birth, was clueless as to what that felt like. "Right. Sorry. Erm … so you can't describe the pain, then? Is it like stabbing? Sharp? Dull? Throbbing? Is it constant or intermittent? Is it in your stomach or … lower?"

She snorted. "You're a strange one, you know that? I don't know, Dean, it's like … awful." She made a face. "Just awful. Not quite sharp, not quite stabbing. Not quite dull, either. And it is low in my abdomen, but it radiates to my thighs, my lower back. It's just … _awful_. Feels a bit like my insides are going bad. And as for your other question from before, yes, I feel the moisture when it seeps out, of course I feel it, but something tells me that's not what you meant. No, I don't feel it when it first comes out of my cervix. That's what you meant, yeah?"

He nodded.

"Okay, what else?"

"Erm, when did you start?"

"When I was twelve, almost thirteen."

"Were you happy about it?"

"No," she said immediately, with a laugh as though the question was ridiculous. "Absolutely not. I was mortified. And the fuss that was made over it …" She rolled her eyes. "My mother was over the moon. And _weepy_. It was a huge thing for her, her little girl hitting that milestone. Dean." She looked him dead in the eye, as serious as any Unforgivable Curse. "There was cake, Dean. The woman made a sodding cake."

He had to stifle his giggles, force a look of sympathy. Not that he wasn't sympathetic, but his amusement was fighting it. He patted her flannel-clad knee. "That's just stupid."

"Exactly! I begged her not to tell the entire family, and to her credit she didn't. But of course she mentioned it to Dad, which I expected. And Dad had to tell someone, so of course he told Bill. Bill was old enough at that point that Dad had begun to consider him more of an equal and they chatted about everything when they got the chance. Catching Bill up on what was going on with the family was Dad's favourite thing to do. Well, Bill told Charlie, because they've always been close, and then Charlie told the twins, and then Ron overheard the twins taunting me about it. I can't remember how Percy found out, but at least he didn't _congratulate_ me like everybody else." She scowled, then continued. "Percy, Ron and Dad were the easiest to deal with. Ron got a bit weird around me, sort of quiet and awkward, and Dad would sometimes look at me a bit wistfully for some reason without saying anything, but that all went away after a week or so. Percy ignored the whole thing completely. I couldn't tell if it made him uncomfortable or not. Well, he was always uncomfortable about one thing or another."

"No one made a big deal about my sisters' periods," Dean said. "They happened, they were dealt with quietly, no one talked about it out in the open."

"I know it's a bit late in the game, but mind if your family adopts me?"

He smiled at her. "Then you'd be my sister."

"Might be hot. Shagging your sister." She smirked and wiggled her eyebrows. She did that a lot, said scandalous things to try to make him blush. He was used to it by now. This attempt might not have worked had the words "shagging your sister" not put unfortunate images in his head. He fidgeted, cleared his throat and went on as though she hadn't spoken.

"My parents were really open and easy going about things," he clarified. "We could talk to them about anything, but things like periods were a private matter. I think they realised just how embarrassing the subject was for my sisters, so they never would have done anything to commemorate the occasion."

"My parents could've learned a thing or two from yours."

"Perhaps. You seem really down on the whole thing."

"It's awful, Dean."

"You've said that already. Several times."

"That's how awful it is."

"But not all girls feel that way, though."

"No. Some like their periods. From what I hear." She shook her head as though she couldn't fathom how that could be.

"It's kind of neat, though, don't you think?"

She looked at him with clear scepticism.

"It's like a new beginning every month. Like you're starting over. Clean slate."

She cocked her head. "Something's wrong with you, you know that?"

"Sue me, I think your body's amazing. And I don't think you see it, which is a bloody shame. No pun intended."

"Oh, Dean, stop it," she snapped. "I appreciate my body. I love that I can run faster than most boys I know. I love that I can push my broom to faster speeds than most, take a tumble without even wincing. I've had more broken bones than Bill. Almost as many as Charlie. And I never cried about it. Charlie can't say that."

Dean grinned and made a mental note never to mention to Charlie what Ginny had just said about him.

"My body can do amazing things, I'm just not terribly impressed with this one thing. What's so fantastic about it? That it allows me to have children? I'm not even sure I want to do that … Oh, right, by the way," she added in a mumble, "er, I'm not sure I want to have children."

He nodded. "Got it." They hadn't discussed that yet. Dean wasn't sure about children either, but the time to really discuss it hadn't presented itself until now. They'd only started dating again a few months ago.

"Why are you so fascinated with all this anyway?" she asked.

"Dunno. It just hit me one day, you know, that it's kind of interesting. I grew up with women in the house, I'm no stranger to period paraphernalia, seen loads of pads and tampons and things lying about. Sometimes not entirely clean ones."

"Oh, god," she said, dropping her face into her hands. "I'd be mortified if one of my brothers saw something like that."

"They might've done, you know. They might not mention it to you."

Her face popped up again, wide-eyed. "Good lord."

"I was never horrified, though. It was a bit shocking at first; it is blood, after all. But that wore off quickly enough. Mother must have had talks with the girls, just like Dad had with us boys about our own issues, but I don't think they realised that us boys might have had questions about the girls too, and I was always too shy to say anything. My family was always so hush-hush about the whole thing. But your family? I might've had the courage to ask some questions had I grown up in a family like yours." He looked nervously at her and could already feel the blush creeping up his neck. "Would you be adverse to … showing me?"

She leaned away from him a little. "Showing you what?"

"The, erm … I mean, the … you know."

Her eyebrows shot up.

"If the answer's no, I'll shut up and never ask again," he said quickly. "We can just drop it and forget I ever said anything –"

"Okay" she mumbled, cutting him off, and for a moment she looked as shocked to have said the word as he was to hear it. She touched her fingertips to her lips, as though to keep them from saying any other mad things, and looked sheepishly at him.

"R-really?" he asked.

"Apparently?" she said, sounding like she was asking a question. She dropped her hand from her mouth. "You … are … odd. Your curiosity about this is just weird to me, but …" She sighed. "I should be more appreciative. Most guys don't want anything to do with any of this, and as much as I despise the entire process myself, their discomfort always made me feel a bit like a leper or something, like for one week out of every month I was some kind of awful creature to be banished to a cave in the woods 'til I was normal again. Blimey, can't even say the words 'flow' or 'clot' around some of them without sending them running off screaming with their fingers in their ears. So yes, fine, if you'd like to share this _oh so_ magical time with me, then … I guess I'm pleased that you do."

He smiled at her, his face still hot with embarrassment. "I honestly don't know why I find it so fascinating."

"It doesn't matter. Come." She stood and headed for the bathroom. "Come on, before I change my mind."

He'd never asked her before what sort of monthly protection she used. He'd assumed she was a tampon girl, so when she pulled the small, rubber, bell-shaped cup from inside herself he was more than a little surprised. He'd been living in the Wizarding world for years now and it had never occurred to him to find out what witches generally used. He was sure he'd seen regular disposable products on store shelves here. If he'd ever seen this contraption before, he was drawing a blank now.

"You look shocked," she said, holding the cup up between them. They were standing in the bathroom, next to the toilet. Her pyjama bottoms and underpants had been laid aside on Dean's clothes hamper and she stood before him naked from the waist down, save for her socks. She put her free hand on her hip and waited for his response.

"Er …" he began. "What is it?"

"Menstrual cup. What, don't they have them in the Muggle world?"

Dean had no idea. He shrugged.

"I prefer it to anything else. It's a little more, er, hands-on than any other method, but I don't mind. I'm a bit sensitive, other products just irritate me. Did you … want to look inside?"

This was better than Dean had hoped. The most he'd been expecting was a blood-soaked tampon, not an actual cup of blood. He was very curious (more so than he cared to admit, and he'd already admitted enough to make him feel awkward), but he didn't know how he was going to react to seeing a cup full of menstrual blood. Well, surely he'd seen worse. He'd lived through a war and seven years at Hogwarts, including Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. And Umbridge. A cup of blood should be a cakewalk.

He nodded and she moved the cup closer to him so he could peer inside. It was an opaque, brown cup, no longer than Ginny's pinkie finger, with a little stem sticking out the bottom. It was about half-filled with blood.

"Having fun yet?" she asked. "Can I dump this or did you want a closer look?"

Dean could have examined it a bit more, but he was already self-conscious about his fascination. He shook his head and took a step back, letting her know she could dispose of the cup's contents, and he watched her pour it into the toilet, watched the deep red liquid plume out in the clear water. She lowered the lid, flushed, then went to the sink to wash the cup. When she was done, she turned to him and held the now clean cup toward him.

"I can't believe I'm about to ask this," she sighed, "but would you like to reinsert it for me?" She winced a bit as she said it, perhaps fearing that she'd taken it a step too far and that Dean would recoil in disgust. But Dean was intrigued.

"You'd really let me do that?" he asked.

She relaxed and smiled. "Sure, if you want. I'll talk you through it. Might get blood on your hands, though."

"That's all right," he said. "It's yours. It's you. I don't mind."

She seemed completely calm about it now. That was Ginny for you; nonchalant when anyone else would be nervous or awkward. Dean liked that about her, liked her easy, confident nature, especially now. It was helping to calm him. This was a very secret fantasy of his that he'd never thought could actually happen and his stomach was full of butterflies.

Actually, he found it a bit interesting that she'd initially been uncomfortable with his questions and requests. Beyond being annoyed by them, she'd seemed uncertain of his interest. With anything else, she would've been pleased to make him uncomfortable. That was what she did, she pushed boundaries, tested people, deliberately talked about perverse or unsettling things just to get a rise. Dean thought she probably got that from her father, or possibly the twins. The few times Dean had met Arthur Weasley, apart from being amiable and curious, he'd also taken noticeable pleasure in discussing the most bizarre subjects. And Fred and George were … well, they were Fred and George.

But with this, the subject of her own period, Ginny had been unsure until she'd seen how interested and open-minded Dean was. Dean thought back to his own family, his sisters, the quiet way their periods had been handled. If not for the few slip-ups with bloody pads accidentally left lying about, their monthly cycles would have been invisible to the boys, and the girls preferred it that way, didn't want it seen or discussed. It was embarrassing. It was icky, gross, ugly, a burden, it made them self-conscious. That was how his sisters had felt. That was how Ginny felt. Sympathy welled up inside Dean again. What a way to feel about something one's body did naturally.

"Dean," Ginny said, yanking him away from his own thoughts. "I'm about to start leaking on your bath mat."

"Right, er … yes. I mean yes, I'd like to insert it for you if that's all right."

She shrugged. "Sure. Wash your hands and meet me at the toilet." She stepped past him to the toilet while he went to the sink. "Don't bother drying them," she added. "Water helps with insertion."

He liked that she was more relaxed now, but he wondered how much of it was genuine and how much was her way of masking her own discomfort. Her self-consciousness about the whole thing couldn't have just disappeared completely in a few minutes, could it?

When he approached her with wet hands, she handed him the cup. "Fold it in half, lengthwise," she said. "You're going to stick it in at an angle, with the opening slanted up towards my tail bone, stem angled downward. That's how you'll push it in."

"Wait, so you don't push it up, you push it … back?"

"Yes, on an angle."

He cocked his head, looking confused.

"You never noticed that before?" She grinned and smacked his arm. "Dean, you've been in there a million times, how could you not notice that it's slanted inside?"

"I don't know. Must've been focused on other things."

She rolled her eyes, then raised a leg and rested her foot on the edge of Dean's bathtub, just next to the toilet. "Well, get on with it, then. Haven't got all day. 'Bout to start dripping in a minute."

He fumbled with the cup for a moment but quickly got it folded. He then lowered himself to his knees, bringing his face level with the flame-red thatch of hair at her crotch. With her legs open, her lips were parted enough for him to see her clit. His mind wandered and he considered giving it a lick, but quickly got himself back on track. She'd surely yell at him for losing focus. He wondered why there was no blood leaking out, and figured whatever was in there probably hadn't made it to the opening yet. He was sort of disappointed at that.

"Just pop it in about halfway," she said.

"Easy for you to say," he retorted. He was nervous as hell. What if he hurt her? What if he did it wrong and it got stuck? He took a breath and reached up with his free hand to gently part her lips a bit more. He found her opening, positioned the cup there and very carefully pushed it into her, keeping it pinched in its fold. His fingertips went in a bit too. She wriggled a little, but otherwise seemed fine.

"Now, let go," she instructed, "and stick your index finger in underneath the cup and push downward. That'll help get air in and unfold it. And, if you can, shimmy your finger all around the cup, check if it's completely open."

He followed her instructions meticulously. He slipped his finger in and heard a soft hiss as air rushed in and expanded the cup. He heard no sounds of discomfort from her, so he then wiggled his finger slowly around the cup. She was as warm and wet inside as ever, but he knew that this time the moisture was blood. His belly fluttered again. They'd never done this before. She'd never asked for sex during her period, even when she hadn't felt absolutely horrible, probably assuming he'd be disgusted. And he'd never asked either, assuming she'd refuse outright.

He looked up at her as his finger made its way around the cup. She was watching, had even tilted her pelvis forward, trying to see. Her eyes darted up to meet his and she seemed almost startled to find him watching her. They each smiled shyly.

"So, this is weird," she said.

He shrugged. "Nice, though. I think I like doing this for you."

She arched an eyebrow. "You're serious?"

"Yeah." He gripped her thigh with his free hand, caressed her creamy, pale skin. When his finger made it back to its starting position, he let it sit there and awaited further instructions. He looked up at her expectantly. She was gazing at him now with a soft smile. Then she reached out and gave his chin an affectionate little nudge with her fist, which made him grin. He felt her muscles contract, press up against his finger. She then brought her hand to his and gently gripped his wrist.

"There's more, yeah?" he asked. "We've got to get the lower half up inside you, don't we?"

"Yeah, yeah, just hang on," she whispered. He felt her squeezing with her muscles again, over and over, little pulses of tension – squeeze, release, squeeze, release – like she did sometimes when his dick was inside her.

"What are you doing?" he whispered.

"Helps if I squeeze a few times," she explained. "Helps shift it closer to its final position." She continued doing it, even rocked her hips a bit as she held his hand still, as though fucking herself on his finger. She closed her eyes, bit her lip, her hips moving in a slow, circular pattern, muscles squeezing each time they swung back. Her free hand went up to comb through her hair, sweeping it back away from her face. Her bottom lip slipped from between her teeth as she softly exhaled.

Dean watched her, mesmerised and a little surprised. Was she masturbating? Yes, this definitely didn't seem like it should be part of the normal procedure of getting this cup thing inside her. He thought now she might not mind being licked, so he leaned in and made a soft swipe up across her clit. He heard her gasp, felt her tense. He caught the faintest hint of the metallic smell he knew was blood. He did it again, licked her, this time staying and licking over and over, smelling her natural scent mingling with metal, and even moving his finger back and forth slightly, matching the rhythm of her clenching and the slow rotation of her hips. He felt her hand on his head, petting and gripping his short, tight curls, heard her breath speed up, felt the path of her hips change from circular to a back and forth swing, rubbing her clit against his tongue.

When her hand left his head, he looked up and found it had disappeared underneath her shirt. He could see the lump of it up at her left breast, no doubt tweaking the nipple there.

He knew she was close when she leaned back, abandoning the nipple to brace herself with both hands on the toilet tank behind her, her back arched, hips thrust forward. He wondered if her climax would send a gush of blood into the cup, or if it would be enough to actually pop the cup loose and make it fall out.

He was about to find out. Her body shuddered and she emitted a shaky moan. Her thighs quivered and even her arms trembled as they supported her weight. Then there was the shiver of her muscles against his finger, her head dropping back, the urgent panting. She was coming. He watched her chest heave, her nipples poking out against the fabric of both her bra and her t-shirt.

And then her quivering began to subside and she was shying away from the touch of his tongue, nudging his head away and dropping her foot down off the tub's edge. He pulled his finger out as she sagged and lowered herself to sit on the very edge of the toilet lid. He checked down between her legs; the cup was still there, though it seemed to have shifted just slightly, a little more of it sticking out now.

He wiped his mouth and had a look at his finger. It was damp with blood, but not much, just a bit of a stain of red from the fingertip down to the second knuckle. He was engrossed in examining it and didn't notice when she swiped a few squares of toilet paper from the roll. He only realised it when those squares were wrapped around his finger to clean it. He looked up at her.

"That doesn't normally happen, mind you," she said, tossing the tissues. "Orgasms, I mean. Putting my cup in is normally a far less exciting affair."

He smiled. "Well, you should thank me, then, shouldn't you?"

She smirked. "Thank you. Although let's not make this a habit. I'll never get anything done." She gave his forehead an affectionate nudge with her fingers, then stood up, squatted just a bit, brought a hand to the protruding cup and began to wiggle it up into place. It disappeared completely inside her, and that was that. She straightened up and stepped around him to grab her clothes.

He stood as well and watched her get back into her underpants and pyjamas. He gave his crotch a covert tug, wondering if she might be in the mood to help him out with his own situation down below. But he wasn't about to ask or even suggest. Not for another four days at least. If she wanted to, she'd let him know. She was never shy about it.

"Can you feel it at all?" he asked. "The cup."

"Not normally. Only when my cervix drops really low. Annoying, that."

He blinked at her. "Wait, it _moves_? What, like a lift going up and down?"

She smiled at him as she tied her drawstring. "Oh, Dean." She reached out and patted his shoulder. "So much to learn."

"And eager," he added. "Let's not forget that. I want to know this stuff."

She canted her head as she gazed at him, her hand slipping down to grip one of his. "Thank you," she said.

END


End file.
